


dancing with the demons (holy spirit, holy spirit)

by softirwin



Series: holyverse [2]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Angel Ashton Irwin, Angel Michael Clifford, Angel/Demon Relationship, Demon Calum Hood, Demon Luke Hemmings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:01:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24207124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softirwin/pseuds/softirwin
Summary: “You’re kind of a shitty demon,” he tells Calum, who scowls.“Fuck you,” he says. “You’re kind of a shitty angel.”“Oh, dude, I know,” Michael agrees.-angel/demon au
Relationships: Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin, Michael Clifford/Calum Hood
Series: holyverse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982932
Comments: 50
Kudos: 123





	dancing with the demons (holy spirit, holy spirit)

**Author's Note:**

> whats that? the sound of me having deadlines and writing 7k of fic in a night to cope? 
> 
> yes its quarter past 1 in the morning i am exhausted and slightly delirious BUT important thing is i got this thing done so now i am free to focus on the soulmate au i'm currently writing so there will be another chapter of that incoming soon (also due to it being so late and me being so tired i'm going to respond to messages in the morning bc i cannot do them justice while in this state) 
> 
> this fic truly owes its life to [bellawritess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/pseuds/bellawritess) and [ashisonthefloor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisonthefloor/pseuds/ashisonthefloor) especially ainslee who when i asked 'what sort of demonic things could calum and luke do that aren't evil' came up suspiciously fast with a laundry list of things i'm now slightly afraid of you 
> 
> unusually for me i have nothing else to say besides my usual plug to talk to me on [tumblr](http://calumcest.tumblr.com) and also that this fic was inspired by [this photo](https://66.media.tumblr.com/4d64347d5b2bb0220d94d3748940f520/tumblr_pl578afh4b1uc90aq_1280.png) which i'm highkey obsessed with for some reason

Humans, Michael thinks sourly, wouldn’t be nearly as interested in getting to Heaven if they knew Ashton were in there. 

He means well, Michael knows that, and he’s just doing his job, but that doesn’t make it any less irritating when Michael gets Summoned twice a week to answer for whatever petty crime he’s committed this time. So sue him, he forgot witchcraft was sacrilege, and forgot that astrology falls under that umbrella, and he’d been amused when he’d seen a lady claiming to be able to tell him what was in store for him next year, and he’d had ten dollars on him. He’s thousands of years old, how the fuck is he supposed to remember every tiny rule? Plus, he thinks, cocking his head, she’d told him that a colleague would present difficulties for him, and the way Ashton’s ranting right now is just vindicating the poor woman.

“...set an example, Michael,” Ashton’s saying, when Michael tunes back in. “You were an _archangel_. You have to be _better_.” Michael rolls his eyes. 

“Ashton, I swear to God-” Ashton slaps his hand down on the table. 

“That’s _exactly_ your fucking problem!” he says furiously, and then tenses as he realises what he’s said. Michael can _feel_ the repentance washing over Ashton, the genuine purity of it, and it makes him wince a little bit. Ashton clears his throat, and tries again. “You _can’t_ be blaspheming like that. You’re an _angel,_ Michael. You have free will, and you know what a double-edged sword that is.” Michael folds his arms, wings ruffling defensively. Ashton’s always so fucking hot on how dangerous free will is, like he’s had some kind of bad experience with it, and Michael doesn’t get it. Ashton’s never stepped more than a centimetre out of line in his entire life. 

“I’m loyal to Him,” he says firmly. “He knows that.” _Are you questioning Him?_ remains unspoken, but rings loud in the air between them. 

“I know,” Ashton says wearily. “But He did demote you. Again.” 

“I mean, I _did_ give the Son an onion disguised as an apple,” Michael points out. Ashton glares at him. 

“Are you trying to make this worse for yourself?” he demands, and Michael holds his hands up in defence. 

“Not my fault Jesus doesn’t have a sense of humour,” he mutters, under his breath so Ashton can pretend not to have heard it. He still thinks it was hilarious, made even more so by the connotation of original sin. Maybe the fact he hasn’t repented is why He keeps letting Michael get reamed out by Ashton for the smallest fucking things. 

“You’re lucky He didn’t count that as a rebellion” Ashton tells him. Michael rolls his eyes. 

“What the fuck do you want me to say, Ash?” he says, spreading his hands, ignoring the way Ashton flinches at the curse word. “I’m sorry? I repent? Forgive me Ashton, for I have sinned?” Ashton sighs, but chooses not to comment on the sarcasm. 

“I’m assigning you another case,” he says instead, “and you’d better not mess this one up.” Michael groans, and Ashton gives him a sharp look. “You’re always free to leave, Michael. You know that.” Michael tips his head back to stare at the ceiling and lets his eyes flutter shut, shaking his head. 

“What is it?” he mumbles. He hears paper sliding across Ashton’s desk, and pinches the bridge of his nose for a minute, inhaling deeply, before forcing his head back forwards to see the file Ashton’s pushed at him. 

“A demon,” Ashton says. 

“Oh, for fu- for Go- uh, for goodness’ sake,” Michael says hurriedly, when he sees the look Ashton sends his way. “Seriously, Ash? A demon?” Ashton shrugs. 

“You want to act like a kid, you get treated like a kid,” he says. Michael exhales heavily, and picks up the file, flicking it open to the first page. 

“Calum?” he says sceptically. “What kind of a name for a demon is that?” 

“You’d do well to remember who named him,” Ashton reminds him, and Michael rolls his eyes. 

“He doesn’t look very threatening,” he remarks, flicking through Calum’s file. “What, a couple of possessions, a few cases of muteness...c’mon, Ash, this is well below my pay grade.” 

“Firstly,” Ashton says, in that tone that says _I don’t like what you just said at all but I’m going to be the bigger angel here_ , “you don’t _have_ a pay grade, and secondly, you’ll take what you’re given.” 

“I know, but c’mon, _this_?” Michael says, waving the file in Ashton’s face. “You could deal with this in two minutes, Ashton, why send me after him?” Ashton presses his lips together and looks away, and Michael cocks his head, realisation dawning on him. “Oh, shit. _He’s_ sending me after him.” 

“You know I can’t comment on that,” Ashton says, but his wings twitch uncomfortably and he doesn’t even tell Michael off for cursing, so Michael knows he’s right. 

“What does He want me to do this for?” Michael asks curiously. 

“The Lord moves in a mysterious way,” Ashton says primly, which is his go-to response when he knows the answer but doesn’t want to say it. Michael sits back in his seat heavily, grinning. 

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “Yeah. I’ll take the case.” Ashton rolls his eyes. 

“You’ll do as He darn well says,” he tells Michael, who grins. 

“I’ll do as I damn well please,” he says, and Ashton just sighs in defeat. 

\-------

The first time Michael finds Calum, he’s loosening lug nuts on car wheels in the dead of night. 

He’s knelt on the floor, spanner in his hand, humming something to himself as he works. Michael leans against a car behind him, folding his arms, and watches him for a while, watches the way he bobs his head to the song in his head, taps his fingers on the spanner, grins to himself when the lug nut loosens enough for him to move onto the next one. 

“Man, what kind of demon uses a spanner?” Michael comments after a few minutes. Calum spins around, on his feet at the speed of light, eyes black, teeth bared. Michael just gives him a bored look. 

“Who are you?” Calum hisses. Michael cocks an eyebrow. 

“Don’t recognise me?” he says, and Calum just growls at him. “Damn, how long were you in Heaven? Two minutes?” 

“Who the _fuck_ are you?” Calum spits. Michael sighs, pretending he’s not enjoying this as much as he is, and lets his wings unfold, big and pure white behind him. Calum’s eyes widen, still all-black but with an edge of fear, and he takes a step back. Michael tries his best not to smirk.

“You’re not an angel,” Calum says, sounding like he’s trying to reassure himself. 

“Aren’t I?” Michael says coolly, tucking his wings back in. They feel a little cramped, but he’s made his point, and it’s cold. 

“You said damn,” Calum says, still a little afraid, but also a little confused. Michael shrugs. 

“I have free will,” he says. “Perks of being an angel.” Calum stares at him, and his eyes flash back to looking human again. Michael can’t see too well in the poor light, but they’re still dark, maybe a deep brown, and there’s some sort of a spark in them that makes Michael’s stomach flip. 

He can see Calum a little better now as his eyes adjust to the dark, can see the black jeans and black leather jacket and thin black t-shirt hugging his muscular physique, can see what looks like tattoos on his hands and collarbones and can’t help but wonder whether there are more to be found. 

And yeah, that’s a dangerous train of thought, so he stops himself firmly, allowing himself a sigh. Of course He’s saddled Michael with the hottest demon to walk the realms. 

“Whose car is that?” Michael asks, nodding at the car Calum’s been working on. Calum’s eyes linger on him for a moment, like he doesn’t trust that Michael’s not going to attack him the minute he blinks, and then looks over at the wheels. 

“Don’t know,” he says. 

“You’re trying to fuck with someone you don’t even know?” Calum shrugs, eyes flicking back to Michael. 

“Why not?” he says. Michael narrows his eyes.

“You know fucking with humans is, like, bad, right?” he says. 

“For you,” Calum says, and there’s a glimmer of wicked amusement behind his dark eyes. Michael swallows. “Don’t know if you’ve heard, but my boss isn’t so hot on all of those kinds of rules.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Michael says darkly, because if there’s anyone from Hell Michael’s well-acquainted with, it’s the Devil. Calum, who seems to have now decided that Michael’s had his chance to kill him and hasn’t, casts him one final glance before picking up the spanner, twirling it in his hands (Michael chants a prayer to keep the thoughts about Calum’s fingers at bay), and kneeling at the next wheel. 

“Who are you?” Calum asks again. 

“Michael,” Michael says, as Calum starts twisting the lug nuts the wrong way, tightening them instead of loosening them. “That’s the wrong way, man.” 

“Fuck,” Calum mutters, and starts twisting the other way. Michael cocks his head. 

“You’re kind of a shitty demon,” he tells Calum, who scowls.

“Fuck you,” he says. “You’re kind of a shitty angel.”

“Oh, dude, I know,” Michael agrees. 

“Aren’t you a fucking archangel? Michael?” 

“Used to be,” Michael says. “Got demoted.” Calum snorts. 

“ _Demoted_?” 

“Yeah,” Michael says, with a sigh. “Big man doesn’t like it when you play practical jokes on the Son.” Calum laughs. 

“Yeah, you’re a _really_ shitty angel,” he tells Michael, who bristles slightly. 

“Well, I did defeat Satan,” Michael says defensively. Calum grins, all wicked and sharp teeth. 

“Yeah, he’s mentioned,” he says, and then leans back from the wheel with a sigh. “Man, would you give me a hand?” Michael cocks his head. 

“I’m meant to be stopping you, dude,” he says. Calum rolls his eyes. 

“You’re not doing a very good job,” he says. Michael thinks he would do a much better job if Calum weren’t so fucking _pretty._ That’s kind of unfair, he thinks. It gives Calum an automatic advantage. 

“Stop it,” Michael says, and Calum laughs, tilting his head back, and Jesus Christ, Michael wants to mark up his neck. He sends a quick apology prayer to whoever might have heard that thought, and clears his throat. “Seriously, Calum. Stop.” 

“Or what?” Calum says, eyes glittering mischievously. “You’ll scowl at me?” Michael cocks his head, and the grin slips off Calum’s face as he starts to choke. He clutches at his throat, looking somewhere between confused and shocked. Michael lets it go on for a few more seconds, relishing the way Calum’s gasping for air, before he lets Calum go. Calum falls back on his heels heavily, a pained expression on his face.

“Stop it,” Michael says simply, and he hears the power in his own voice. Calum winces, head jerking down in a forced bow, and right, yeah, Michael forgot that holy power has that effect on demons. 

“Damn,” Calum says, looking up through inky lashes when Michael lets him go, voice hoarse, but eyes twinkling. “Didn’t take you for the kinky sort.” Ashton is going to string Michael up by his wings for the thoughts that follow that sentence. 

“Fuck you,” Michael says, scowling, as he sends up yet another apology prayer. Calum cocks an eyebrow, grinning. 

“If you’re offering,” he says, rubbing at his throat. Michael sighs to hide the _please_ that’s probably written all over his face. 

“Don’t let me catch you again,” he says instead. 

“What, you’re not going to kill me?” Calum says, and he sounds a little surprised. Michael frowns at him. 

“You want me to?” 

“Just thought you would,” Calum says, shrugging. Michael hesitates.

“You’re not really that threatening, dude,” he says eventually. _And you’re far too pretty to kill._ “I think the world can handle you.” Calum scowls at him, and flips him off with his left hand, picking up the spanner again with his right. Michael wordlessly tightens all the lug nuts again with a surreptitious flick of his wrist. 

“See you next time, angel,” Calum says, slotting the spanner onto another lug nut. 

“Not if you know what’s good for you, demon,” Michael says, turning away and tipping his head back up to Heaven. He hears a grunt behind him as Calum tugs on the lug nut, and grins to himself. 

“Are you fucking kidding me, dude?” Calum cries, and it’s the last thing Michael hears before everything turns white. 

\-------

The second time Ashton sends Michael after Calum, he finds him in a Starbucks. His leather jacket is hung across the chair behind him, and he’s staring at a guy a few metres away from him with a look of pure concentration on his face. Michael takes a moment to drink it in, because he looks really fucking cute and his biceps are, like, right there - and yeah, Michael was right about there being more tattoos - before sliding into the seat opposite Calum. Calum jumps, tearing his eyes away from the guy to Michael, scowling when he realises who it is. 

“Hey,” Michael says nonchalantly, reaching for Calum’s coffee and taking a sip. It’s, like, _pure_ fucking caffeine, and he pulls a face, pushing it back to Calum. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Calum hisses. 

“According to my superior, you’re up to no good,” Michael says. “I’m here to stop you.” Calum rolls his eyes. 

“You’re no fucking fun,” he says. Michael shrugs, and reaches for Calum’s chocolate muffin. He’s always regretted not planting the idea of chocolate in the minds of humans earlier. 

“What were you trying to do?” he says, through a mouthful of muffin. 

“Why would I fucking tell you?” Calum says, folding his arms. “You’ll just undo it.” Michael raises an eyebrow, and swallows. 

“The guy’s tattoo,” he says. Calum scowls again. “What’d you do to it?” 

“It said Lisa,” Calum says sullenly. “Changed it to ‘Lice’.” Michael looks over at the guy’s tattoo again - and yeah, he does actually now have a heart with _Lice_ in it proudly displayed on his arm. Michael can’t help the snort that escapes him. God, would Ashton kill him if he left that one as it is? The answer is almost a hundred percent, but he thinks it might still be worth it. 

“That is fucking funny,” Michael agrees. 

“Man, how the fuck are you still an angel?” Calum says, and Michael huffs out a laugh, taking another bite out of the muffin. Calum snatches the rest of it out of Michael’s hands. 

“This is my fucking muffin,” he says, waving the remnants of it in Michael’s face. Michael shrugs. 

“Steal yourself another one,” he says. 

“ _You_ steal yourself one,” Calum mutters. 

“I’m an angel, dude,” Michael says. 

“Could’ve fooled me.” Michael rolls his eyes, snapping his fingers as Calum raises the last bit of the muffin to his mouth. The muffin disappears and Calum bites down on thin air, looking confused for a split second before glowering at Michael. 

“What the fuck?” he demands. “Why’d you do that? That was a good fucking muffin.” Michael shrugs, grinning.

“For the hell of it,” he says, snapping his fingers again, and the muffin re-materialises in his hand. He throws it in the air, catching it in his mouth, and winks at Calum as he chews. Calum watches him, half in intrigue, half in outrage, mouth slightly open. He’s got such full lips, Michael thinks, and then hastily swallows both the muffin and that train of thought. 

“You’re the worst angel I’ve _ever_ met,” Calum says decisively, sinking back in his seat. 

“You met many?” Michael asks casually. 

“No, but I’m pretty sure you’re the worst they’ve got,” Calum tells him. “I’m going to write a letter of recommendation to get you kicked out of He-” he winces. “Up there.” Michael cocks his head. 

“What’d _you_ do to get kicked out?” he asks. 

“What do any of us do?” Calum says grumpily. “Exercise our free will.” 

“I exercise my free will,” Michael points out. 

“Yeah, to fucking _swear_ ,” Calum says. “You’re like that kid at school who gets an adrenaline rush from telling someone to shut up.” Michael scowls. 

“Fuck you,” he says, and Calum grins wickedly. 

“You kiss your Father with that mouth?” he says. Michael flips him off. 

“Right, well, this has been fun,” he says, wiping his hands on a napkin as he gets to his feet, “but I’ve got to get going. Stop fucking with humans.” 

“Man, you’d be way more fun if you weren’t an angel,” Calum says mournfully. 

“I dunno,” Michael says, mock-thoughtfully. “Wouldn’t get to do this then, would I?” He snaps his fingers, just for dramatic effect, and the _Lice_ tattoo on the man’s arm rearranges itself to say _Lisa_ again, and an identical heart with _Lice_ appears on Calum’s bicep. Calum twists his arm around with a look of absolute horror.

“You absolute fucking _bastard_ ,” Calum shouts, making at least five people in the Starbucks turn around and give him a sharp look (not that he’ll fucking care). 

“Be a good boy, demon,” Michael says, throwing him a grin before heading out into the warm October air. 

\-------

The first thing Michael’s going to do when He gets over Himself and reinstates Michael as an archangel is have a word with Him about ever giving Ashton Summoning powers. 

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” Michael mutters, using his right wing to rub his head where he’d banged it on impact. 

“Are you serious?” Ashton says, hands on his hips. “You come straight into my office and blaspheme?” 

“Don’t fucking Summon me with no warning, then,” Michael says, shaking his wings out. Ashton throws him a glare, probably for cursing, possibly for having the gall to respond at all. 

“You’re an _angel_ , Michael, you’ll come when you’re called,” he says reprovingly. Michael rolls his eyes, but throws himself down on the chair on the other side of Ashton’s desk heavily. 

“What?” he says, with a long-suffering sigh. 

“It’s Calum,” Ashton says. 

“Again?” Ashton throws him a look. 

“You could’ve killed him,” he says pointedly. Michael shrugs, a little uncomfortably. He knows he should have, but something about Calum just draws Michael in, makes it impossible for him to say no. 

“He was fucking with tattoos and unscrewing lug nuts, Ash,” he says, a little too defensive. “Not exactly crimes of the millennium.” Ashton scrutinises him for a moment, and then purses his lips. 

“Well,” he says primly, “apparently he’s turned up in LA.” Michael can’t help but smile at that, because yeah, LA sounds like exactly the kind of place a demon like Calum would show up. Ashton sees it, and frowns. “Michael, this is a _case_ , you hear me? Calum’s still a demon, no matter how much you want to copulate with him.” Michael scowls. Fucking Ashton, always listening to his prayers. 

“No one says fucking copulate anymore,” he snipes, because he can’t exactly deny it. “You’d know if you ever got down off your high horse and visited Earth.” Ashton rolls his eyes. 

“I’m pretty busy up here,” he says, gesturing to all the paperwork piled high on his desk. 

“I’m telling you, station Pahaliah with Peter at the gates,” Michael says. “You’d cut all this in half.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Ashton says. “Pahaliah’s had his work cut out for him since the Enlightenment.” Michael rolls his eyes. 

“Alright, Barachiel, then,” he suggests. “He’s a fucking pain in the arse. Might do him some good to do something mundane for a few centuries.” 

“I think He has bigger plans for His archangels than guarding the gates,” Ashton says. Michael raises an eyebrow, and Ashton rolls his eyes. “You’re not an archangel anymore, Michael.” 

“I am in all but name,” Michael says with a shrug, because He always relents where Michael’s concerned. “This is my, what, twelfth demotion? Thirteenth?” 

“This one might stick,” Ashton says warningly, which is what he says every time it happens. His concern is kind of cute, Michael thinks, if unwarranted. Ashton’s never understood Him like Michael does. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Michael says dismissively, because he’s not about to have this discussion with Ashton _again_. “Can I go now?” Ashton frowns at him, which Michael takes as a yes. He lifts himself up from the chair, stretching his wings and arms out, and turns to leave. 

“Do _not_ copulate with the demon, Michael,” Ashton says. 

“I won’t,” Michael promises, heading for the door. “Might fuck him, though.” 

(The force with which Ashton slams him into the wall makes the whole building shake, but it’s absolutely worth it.) 

\-------

LA is cold in November, which Michael had forgotten. It’s also busy, which means he can’t draw his wings around himself for extra warmth, nor simply teleport himself to the studio Calum’s apparently in. Instead, he has to huddle into himself and elbow his way through the Hollywood crowds, meaning he’s in a pretty bad mood by the time he actually gets to where he needs to be. 

Michael distracts the security guard momentarily with a quick wave of his hand, enough for him to slip inside unnoticed. It’s a small studio, only a handful of live rooms, and Michael only has to peek into two before he finds the one Calum’s in. 

Calum, clad in his usual all-black get-up, is leaning against the wall of the studio, grinning as he watches the sound engineer frowning, fiddling with a bunch of his controls. Michael can see the shimmer of the glamour he’s cast, and wordlessly casts one of his own as he clicks the door shut behind him. The sound engineer doesn’t even look up, so preoccupied with trying to fix whatever’s going wrong, but Calum hears the sound and whips around, scowling when he sees Michael. 

“Do you just, like, have a sixth sense for when there’s some fun occurring that could be stopped?” he asks, and Michael grins at him. 

“Just got a sixth sense for shitty demons,” he says, and Calum’s scowl deepens. 

“Fuck you,” he says. Michael raises an eyebrow, then casts a look over at the live room on the other side of the glass. There’s a band in there, two girls on guitar, one on bass and one on drums, all frowning at their instruments and fiddling with tuning pegs or tension rods. 

“You’re un-tuning their instruments?” he says. “That’s pretty bad, even for you.” Calum makes a noise of outrage. 

“What do you mean, even for me?” he says, sounding scandalised. “That tattoo was fucking hilarious, you said so yourself.” Michael’s eyes flick down to Calum’s bicep, even though it’s covered by his leather jacket. Calum notices, and folds his arms. “Yeah, fuck you for that. Do you have _any_ idea the number of favours I had to call in to get rid of it?” Michael snorts. 

“Who the fuck owes you favours?” he asks, and Calum grins, eyes gleaming. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he says. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’m asking,” Michael points out. Calum rolls his eyes, and turns back to the sound engineer, who looks like he’s ready to cry. 

“I asked around about you,” Calum comments casually, as they both watch the sound engineer fiddle with yet more knobs. 

“Oh?” Michael hums, interest piqued. “You know, the Devil and I had a good understanding.” 

“Yeah, until you waged a war against him,” Calum says. 

“On the Lord’s orders,” Michael says, a little defensively. 

“Well, he found it pretty funny that you got demoted,” Calum says. Michael rolls his eyes. Of course he did. 

“He would,” Michael says. “Did he tell you about the time the Lord made him wash the Son’s feet in front of the whole host?” Calum gapes at him. 

“No,” he says, sounding flabbergasted. Michael grins, feeling oddly satisfied. 

“Yeah, I bet he didn’t,” he says. “Didn’t realise he concerned himself with petty demons like you, anyway.” Calum scowls. 

“I’m not a petty demon,” he says, a shade petulantly. 

“You un-tune people’s guitars, dude,” Michael says. “Pretty sure demons are meant to be out committing homicide, and stuff.” 

“There are plenty of demons who do the whole murder thing,” Calum says, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m striking out.” Michael can’t help but grin at that. 

“I’ll put that in your file,” he tells Calum. “‘Not Like Other Demons’. Got it.” 

“I’ve got a file?” 

“What, you think we just let demons run around unchecked?” Calum blinks at him.

“You know Galadriel’s in the US president’s cabinet right now?” he says slowly. 

“Of course we know,” Michael says. 

“And you’re leaving him be?” Michael shrugs. 

“Not my department,” he says. Calum stares at him for a moment, and then a grin breaks out on his face, and he shakes his head. 

“Man, things have definitely changed since I was up there,” he says. 

“When was that?” Michael asks. Calum shrugs. 

“I dunno, I’m not great with time,” he says. “One, two thousand years ago?” Michael hums thoughtfully. 

“You remember Raphael?” he says. Calum rolls his eyes, and now that, _that_ is a sentiment Michael can really get behind. 

“Unfortunately,” he mutters. “He still so fucking holier-than-thou?” 

“You thought he was holier-than-thou then?” Michael says, raising his eyebrows. “You should see him since my latest demotion.” He pitches his voice up a few octaves, and mimics: “ _Oh, Michael, if you just repented, you could have your seat at His side again. We’re all rooting for you. You’re just letting yourself down._ ” Calum grins. 

“You get demoted often?” It’s Michael’s turn to shrug. 

“Every couple of centuries,” he says. Calum laughs, all straight white teeth and sparkling eyes, and Michael’s stomach flips. God, he’s far too fucking pretty for Michael to handle. Is that why He sent Michael after him? Is this His idea of revenge? 

“I have no idea how you’re still an angel,” Calum says, shaking his head, still smiling. 

“Pure heart,” Michael says solemnly. “That’s why I keep defending these poor, helpless humans from your shitty little tricks.” 

“They’re not shitty,” Calum protests, as Michael throws a glance over to the girls in the live room, tightening their tuning pegs and tension rods wordlessly. Calum sighs dramatically, eyes following Michael’s gaze. “Man, you’re so fucking boring, you know that?” 

“Whatever you say,” Michael says with a grin, stepping back. “Behave yourself, demon.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Calum says, eyes twinkling. Michael smirks, and drops Calum’s glamour with a snap of his fingers. The sound engineer whirls around immediately, eyes widening when he sees Calum in the corner of the room, and scrambles to his feet, grabbing a nearby guitar and brandishing it like a weapon. 

“Who the fuck are you?” the guy shouts. “How the _fuck_ did you get in here?” Calum shoots Michael a glare. 

“I fucking hate you, angel,” is the last thing Michael hears before everything goes white. 

\-------

The next time Ashton sends Michael after Calum, he finds him with another demon who looks decidedly undemonic, blonde curls framing baby-blue eyes. Calum’s head whips around when Michael clears his throat, eyes black, poised to pounce, but he relaxes when he sees who it is. Michael’s not sure what to make of that. The other demon, though, bares his teeth, eyes flashing to black, tensing at Michael’s presence.

“Evening,” Calum says casually as his eyes flicker back to looking human, like they’re friends, and like Michael doesn’t have the power to kill him with a snap of his fingers. 

“What are you doing?” Michael asks, cocking his head. There’s glue and there’s coins, and he doesn’t understand how the two of them combine. 

“Gluing coins to the footpath,” Calum says, stepping back to let Michael see. In the dim light of the streetlight a few metres away, Michael can see a few coins shining back at him. 

“Huh,” he says thoughtfully. “Who’s your friend?”

“Luke,” the other demon says, eyes narrowed and black, posture defensive. He’s oddly familiar, Michael thinks, a bitter taste rising in his throat when they lock eyes. Michael’s dealt with a lot of demons in his time, but he doesn’t remember any called Luke. “Who the fuck is this, Cal?” 

“This?” Calum says, far too nonchalantly, kicking at one of the coins to make sure it’s properly stuck. “Michael. You know, the archangel?” 

“C’mon, dude,” Michael protests. “That’s a sensitive topic.” Luke looks at him, and there’s an edge of a glint to his eyes that Michael doesn’t like the look of. 

“An _archangel?_ ” he asks Calum, eyes still on Michael. 

“Well, no,” Calum says cheerfully, dropping to his knees again and sending Michael a pointed look, eyes glittering with humour. “He got demoted. Just a regular angel now.” Michael rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in,” he says. “Who are you, the Raphael of Hell?” Calum snorts, and Luke looks from Calum to Michael and back again. 

“Are you going to kill us?” he says. 

“That depends,” Michael says. “Are you going to piss me off enough to make me?” 

“Don’t worry about him,” Calum tells Luke, reaching for another coin and some glue. “He’s the worst angel they’ve got.” Michael sighs, an _I didn’t want to have to do this but you’ve twisted my arm_ kind of sigh, and raises his hand. Calum jerks into the air, feet dangling beneath him, and his wings instinctively shoot out, beating wildly to try and escape Michael’s chokehold. They’re kind of gorgeous, actually - sleek, black feathers, a little unkempt. 

“Huh,” Michael says thoughtfully, as Calum struggles against his hold, wheezing and spluttering, and Luke stares at him, looking only mildly interested. “Nice wings, dude.” He lets Calum go, who drops to the ground with a loud _crack_ , splitting the footpath on impact. Calum winces, rubbing at his throat, and folds his wings back in. 

“Thanks,” he says, coughing. “Always thought black suited me better.” Michael hums in agreement. He can’t really see the pure, brilliant white he has on his own back working with Calum’s aesthetic. 

“Hey, d’you have a halo?” Calum says to Michael, voice still a little hoarse. 

“‘Course,” Michael says. “Do you have horns?” Calum snorts, getting to his feet. 

“I can if you want me to,” he says, throwing Michael a wink. Luke stares at him. 

“Wait, are you two fucking?” he asks, a note of trepidation in his voice. Calum’s eyes flick to Michael, dark and hungry.

“Not yet,” he says, not taking his eyes off Michael. Michael swallows, and apologises to Ashton, who he just _knows_ is listening, for the string of thoughts that just went through his mind. 

“I’m just doing my job,” Michael says to Luke, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Calum’s. 

“Isn’t your job to kill us?” 

“No,” Michael says. “Just to stop you. And, I’ve got to be honest, stopping Calum isn’t exactly hard. He’s kind of a shitty demon.” 

“Fuck you,” Calum says, scowling, and Michael grins. 

“If you’re lucky,” he says, winking at Calum before turning to Luke. “You don’t seem like a very intimidating demon either, dude, not gonna lie.” 

“Oh, you should see him when he’s pissed,” Calum says, and Luke huffs, looking a little embarrassed. “Remember that transport minister in Berlin that fell in front of a train a few months ago?” Michael gapes at him. 

“That was you?” he says, rounding on Luke. 

“Yep,” Calum says gleefully, on Luke’s behalf. 

“What, he stood on my foot on the underground and didn’t apologise,” Luke says defensively. Michael stares at him for a moment, and then shakes his head. 

“You’re a way better demon than Calum,” he says, and the cheerful grin slips off Calum’s face, replaced with an indignant scowl. 

“What the fuck, dude?” he demands. Michael shrugs. 

“Find yourself a better sidekick, Luke,” he recommends, taking a step back. 

“Go fuck yourself,” Calum says. Michael grins, flicking his wrist, and all the coins start rolling down the footpath towards the gutter. 

“What did I tell you about behaving?” he mock-chides, as Calum makes a noise of outrage, trying to stop a few of the coins with his feet. 

“Fuck you, angel,” Calum grumbles, and Michael blows him a kiss as he transports himself back home. 

\-------

Michael’s in the middle of a debate with Peter about whether or not Julius Caesar should really have been let into Heaven when Ashton Summons him. 

“-just shouldn’t have crossed the Rubicon, if you ask me,” Michael finishes his sentence addressing the wall in Ashton’s office. He spins around, annoyed. “What the fuck, Ash? I was having a _conversation._ ” Ashton holds up a picture of Luke and Calum that Michael had put in Calum’s file, tapping on Luke. 

“Who’s the friend?” he says. 

“Luke,” Michael says. “Can I go now?” 

“No,” Ashton says, motioning for Michael to sit. Michael sighs dramatically, but throws himself down into the chair. Ashton sits down opposite him, wings poised, and steeples his fingers against his chin. 

“You know Luke?” he asks carefully. Michael shrugs. 

“Met him once,” he says. “They were gluing coins to a footpath.” Ashton nods thoughtfully. “Oh, and he killed that transport minister in Berlin a few months ago.” 

“I think he’s killed a lot more than just the transport minister,” Ashton says, tapping on a thick, unmarked file on his right. Michael shrugs. 

“Humans have to die of something,” he says. Ashton gives him a look. 

“We’re meant to protect humanity,” he says reprovingly. 

“C’mon, Ash, they live about as long as it takes me to blink,” Michael says. Ashton purses his lips, but he knows Michael’s right. 

“I’m going after him,” he says eventually. Michael does a literal, honest-to-God double take. 

“You’re doing _what_?” he says, astounded. “You’re going _down_?” 

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Ashton says, a little snappily. “Gabriel’ll take over for me when I’m gone.” Michael groans. 

“C’mon, Ash, can’t you pick, like, Uriel, or Selaphiel, or something?” he asks desperately, because he’d rather _die_ than answer to Gabriel, but Ashton shakes his head firmly. 

“Gabriel’s the only one qualified,” he says, eyes back on the picture of Luke and Calum. 

“What’s so interesting about Luke?” Michael asks, seeing the way Ashton’s eyes linger on him. “Why can’t you send someone else after him?” Ashton hesitates, then looks at Michael with a serious expression. 

“There’s never been a demon called Luke.” 

\-------

Michael next sees Calum in a shopping centre food court. 

Calum spots him before he manages to get to him, and beckons him over, grinning excitedly. Michael tries to suppress a grin and ignore the way his stomach flips at that, pushing through the crowd to get to the booth Calum’s sat in and sliding in opposite him. 

“Watch this,” Calum says gleefully, nodding at the woman to their right. She takes a bite of her margherita pizza, nodding at whatever her friend is saying, and then stops, frowning, hand flying to her throat. 

“What did you do?” Michael asks, as the woman starts to cough. 

“Made her allergic to salt,” Calum says nonchalantly, and Michael snorts. The woman looks like she’s starting to struggle to breathe, so Michael waves his hand, and she relaxes, coughing a few more times, looking extremely confused and concerned. 

“So you’ve progressed to actually killing people now?” Michael asks, mildly intrigued. Calum shakes his head. 

“Knew you’d turn up,” he says, flashing Michael a grin. Michael rolls his eyes. 

“You don’t know that,” he says. “I’m a busy angel.” Calum snorts. 

“Right, that’s why they’ve sent you after me,” he says sarcastically, dipping a chip in some ketchup and popping it in his mouth. “Sure.” Michael shrugs. 

“He wanted me to go after you,” he says. Calum stops chewing, and frowns. 

“He?” he says, swallowing. “As in, _Him_?” Michael nods. “What the fuck? I’m on G-” he winces. “I’m on His radar?” 

“Apparently so,” Michael says, reaching for one of Calum’s chips and looking around for the mayonnaise. “Hey, where’s the mayo?” Calum stares at him. 

“You eat mayo, and _I’m_ the demon?” he says in disbelief. Michael scowls at him, and conjures some mayonnaise. 

“It’s the best condiment,” he tells Calum, through a mouthful of chip. Calum shakes his head at him, looking genuinely disappointed. 

“What does He want with me, then?” he asks. Michael shrugs. 

“Do I look like God?” he says. Calum shrugs. 

“Never met Him,” he says. Michael raises his eyebrows. 

“Well, who kicked you out?” he asks. 

“Raphael.” 

“Bet he enjoyed that.” Calum huffs out a laugh, sticking his finger in the ketchup and then in his mouth. Michael’s not sure whether he should be grossed out by the fact Calum’s eating pure ketchup, or turned on by the way Calum’s got his lips wrapped around his fingers, looking up at Michael through thick, black lashes. 

“You’re disgusting,” he settles for, but it comes out weak, and a grin’s flashing across Calum’s face in a second. 

“Only for you,” he says, with a wink. Michael rolls his eyes, and hopes the pink on his cheeks isn’t too obvious. He reaches for another one of Calum’s chips, and Calum’s eyes follow him. He looks like he’s weighing up whether or not he wants to say something. 

“What’s He like?” he asks eventually, curiously. 

“God?” Michael asks, and Calum nods. Michael swallows his mouthful of chips, and clears his throat. “He’s cool. Pretty laid-back guy. It’s the Son you want to watch out for.” Calum cocks an eyebrow in intrigue, and Michael nods. “Yeah, the Son’s got a proper stick up his ass. Never met anyone so uptight in my life.” 

“Might be a side effect of crucifixion,” Calum suggests, and Michael snorts. 

“Well, you know, there’s the whole Trinity thing,” Michael continues, “so He’s pretty strict when it comes to the Son. God, the Son’s so spoilt. You think Raphael’s bad, wait until you meet Jesus.” Calum snorts. 

“Don’t think I’ll be meeting the Son anytime soon,” he says, and there’s something hard in his eyes and bitter in his tone. Michael frowns, but it’s gone as soon as Michael opens his mouth to ask. 

“What about Hell?” he asks instead. 

“What about it?” 

“Well, what’s Satan up to nowadays?” A look of amusement flashes across Calum’s face. 

“Oh, y’know,” he says. “Same old.” 

“Being the proudest motherfucker around?” Calum laughs, eyes twinkling, and Michael has the feeling he’s said something much funnier than he intended to. 

“You could say that,” Calum says. 

“He still funny?” Michael asks. “Heaven’s way more boring without him. He was the only one with a fucking sense of humour.” Calum’s eyes glitter with mirth. 

“I’d say so,” he says, grinning. 

“Well,” Michael says, a little awkwardly, because Calum’s finding this way funnier than it should be. “Give him my best.” Calum bursts out laughing. 

“Will do, angel,” he says. 

\-------

God is nothing like humans think. 

Okay, He’s a _little_ like humans think - He’s got the beard - but that’s about it. 

“Hey, Mikey,” God says, grinning at him when he knocks at the door. “How’s my favourite angel?” Michael rolls his eyes, shutting the door behind him. 

“You’re not supposed to have favourites,” he tells God. 

“I don’t,” God says, eyes twinkling. “But Raphael was listening.” Michael snorts, shaking his head, and God gestures at the seat opposite His desk, capping His pen as Michael sits down. 

“You reinstating me as archangel?” Michael asks cheerfully. God sighs, giving him a serious look, and the smile slips off Michael’s face. 

“You know, Jesus is still mad about the onion,” He says gravely. “You made Him look bad, which means you made me look bad.” 

“You know I didn’t mean to do that,” Michael says, because He can see Michael’s intentions laid out in front of him, clear as day. “And you know I’m sorry.” 

“I know,” God says. “So I _am_ reinstating you. But don’t play around with the Son again.” Michael nods meekly, wings sagging a little. 

“Thank you, Father,” he says. God waves His hand dismissively, grinning. 

“You knew I was going to reinstate you,” He says. 

“Ashton’s going to be pissed,” Michael says, and God chuckles. 

“He knew too,” He says. “He thinks you get special treatment.” That _fucker._ And, yeah, shit, Michael’s in the presence of the Lord, and isn’t censoring his thoughts. Whoops. Sorry. “Apology accepted,” He says, grinning. 

Michael hesitates, then, because it reminds him of some things Calum’s said - _you exercise your free will to swear_ , and the many different iterations of _you’re the worst angel up there_. God raises an eyebrow, motioning for Michael to ask. 

“Why don’t you kick me out?” Michael blurts. God leans back in His seat. 

“You _want_ me to kick you out?” He asks. Michael shakes his head. 

“But I- y’know,” Michael says, shrugging a little uncomfortably in the heat of His gaze. There’s nothing quite like the scrutiny of the Lord. “I swear. I blaspheme. I- uh.” He flushes, and God smirks as images of just what exactly Michael would like to do to Calum flash through his mind. Michael clears his throat. “I’m not exactly a model angel.” God looks at him, calculating, and Michael tries to resist the urge to fall to his knees. 

“You use your free will exactly as I intended it to be used,” He says. “You do as you please with a pure heart, unwaveringly loyal to me. You never have your own interests above mine.” 

“Even when I blaspheme?” God looks at him for a moment, and then smiles. 

“Even when you blaspheme,” He says gently. “You’d do well to remember my omniscience, Michael. Raphael may think obsequiousness is the way into my good books, but that was the reason I gave you free will. I knew some would use it for wrong, I knew some of you would use it to serve me blindly, but you’re the only one who’s ever used their free will as I intended, and the only one I’d ever want at my right-hand side.” Michael has to drop his gaze, can’t meet the holy power shining from His eyes. 

“Thank you, Father,” he says again, and he hears the awe in his own voice. Jesus Christ, he sounds like a human. God snorts at that. 

“Yeah, you do,” He says. “Now, go and tell Raphael you’ve been reinstated. I’ve seen how it plays out, and you’re going to love it.” 

“Can I tell him I’m your right-hand angel?” Michael says hopefully, and God laughs. 

“The fuck you can,” He says, eyes twinkling, and laughs again as Michael gawps at Him. “Oh, you think you’re the only one who can swear in here?” 

Yeah, Michael should have seen that one coming. 

\-------

The next time Michael sees Calum, he’s with Luke again. It’s the middle of the night, and they’ve both cast glamours, whispering to each other in a dormitory in a hostel in Prague. Luke’s pointing at something across the room, and Michael silently casts his own glamour, sauntering over to them nonchalantly in the hopes of picking up what they’re talking about. 

“...the right side of the room, you take the left,” Luke says, gesturing to the other side of the room. 

“For what?” Michael asks, and both Calum and Luke jump, eyes instinctively turning black and baring their teeth. They both relax when they see who it is, though. 

“Can you let us have _one_ night of fun?” Calum says, sighing. 

“Depends,” Michael says. “Does ‘fun’ involve fucking with the humans?” He indicates the ten people sleeping soundly in the room, and both Luke and Calum hesitate. 

“Well, yes, but-” Luke begins.

“No can do,” Michael says smoothly, and Calum scowls at him. 

“You ever get tired of being a boring cunt?” he asks, and Michael can’t help but laugh. 

“What are you up to?” he asks. 

“Unplugging people’s phone chargers,” Luke answers, eyes gleaming. “They’re all going to wake up with thirty percent charge. Some of them might even miss their alarms.” He sounds so fucking pleased with himself. Michael rolls his eyes. 

“What are you, three hundred?” he says, and he opens his mouth to make another scathing remark, but is interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. He whips around in surprise, because who the fuck can see through his glamour, to find Ashton standing there, looking equally surprised to see him. 

“Oh,” Michael says, turning back to Calum, who looks bewildered, and Luke, who looks shocked. “This is my superior. Although, actually, that’s not true anymore, is it?” 

“You get demoted too?” Calum asks Ashton sympathetically. Ashton sends Michael a glare, and shakes his head tightly. Calum looks back at Michael, who’s grinning widely. 

“No way,” he says incredulously. “You got reinstated?”

“He _always_ gets reinstated,” Ashton mutters. 

“Jealousy’s not a good look you, Ash,” Michael tells him sweetly, and Ashton scowls at him. 

“Ashton,” Luke says suddenly. Ashton’s eyes slide over to him, something unreadable in his expression. 

“Yes,” he says, a little tightly. Michael frowns. What the fuck is Ashton’s deal with Luke? He’s just a harmless fucking demon. He’s about to start unplugging people’s phones, for God’s sake. Not exactly the kind of criminal mastermind Ashton usually descends for; the last time Ashton had come down had been for Attila the Hun. 

“Huh,” Luke says, a little smile unfolding on his lips. “You’re still fucking hot.” Michael’s eyes widen, and Calum chokes on his next breath, disguising it badly as a cough. 

“You know him?” Michael asks in disbelief. Luke grins, eyes glittering, and waves his hand. Michael watches as all the phone chargers in the room simultaneously unplug themselves and fall to the floor, and his jaw drops. No demon should be able to do that. Calum wouldn’t even be able to unplug _two_ chargers at the same time. 

“Cal didn’t tell you?” Luke says sweetly. “Luke’s short for Lucifer.” 

\-------

For want of a better phrase, all hell had broken loose as soon as the words had left Luke’s lips. 

Ashton and Michael’s wings had flown out, in warrior mode without a second’s hesitation, and Calum and Luke had responded in kind, growling, eyes black, teeth bared. 

“I _knew_ it,” Ashton had hissed, holy light rolling off him so brightly it even almost hurt Michael’s eyes. Calum had shrunk back, but Luke had been unperturbed. “The minute I saw that picture, I _knew_ it was you.” Luke had grinned, all sharp teeth and gleaming black eyes. 

“You think about me that often?” he’d said. 

“Of course I fucking think about you,” Ashton had spat, and Michael had stopped short, stared at him. 

“Did you just fucking swear?” he’d asked. 

“Not really the point, Michael,” Ashton had said through gritted teeth.

“Man, you’re not the only angel to swear?” Calum had said to Michael. 

“He _never_ swears,” Michael had told him, bewildered. 

“These are special _fucking_ circumstances,” Ashton had snapped, and the power in his voice had made Calum stumble back a few steps. 

“Look,” he’d said carefully, when he’d regained his footing. “Michael’s an archangel, you’re...whatever the fuck you are, and Luke’s the Devil. All I’m seeing here is I’m going to come out bottom if this comes down to a fight. Why don’t we take this somewhere else?” They’d all hesitated, tense and poised, none of them willing to be the first to give in, until Calum’s gaze had flickered to Michael, a pleading note in his brown eyes. 

And really, who’s Michael, archangel of the Lord, to say no to petty demon Calum? 

“Fine,” Michael had said, folding his wings, and after a moment’s hesitation, Ashton had followed suit. Luke had taken a moment longer, until Calum had nudged him pointedly, and then he’d folded his sleek black wings in too. 

That’s how they’ve ended up here, in a McDonald’s that’s open all night. They’re huddled in a booth, too close for comfort, Calum and Luke on one side, Michael and Ashton on another. 

“So,” Michael says awkwardly, cutting into the uncomfortable silence, because someone has to be the first to speak. “Sorry about, y’know. The war, and all that.” Luke snorts. 

“Water under the bridge,” he says, waving a hand dismissively, but his eyes don’t stray from Ashton. “You were always my favourite angel.” Ashton flinches at that. 

“What’s the fucking deal here?” Calum demands, and Michael’s silently grateful that he’s not the one who had to ask the question and risk getting publicly reamed out by Ashton. “How do you two know each other?” Luke grins, still gazing at Ashton. 

“You wanna tell them, or should I?” he says, and Ashton stiffens. “I guess I should, huh? It is _my_ story, after all.” 

“Fucking spit it out already, Luke,” Calum says. Luke raises his eyebrows at Ashton, and then finally tears his gaze away. 

“Ashton’s the reason I fell,” Luke says. Michael feels his jaw drop.

“ _What?_ ” he says, at the exact same time as Calum. 

“How?” Michael demands. 

“What the fuck?” Calum says. 

“What happened?” 

“What did he do?” 

“Hang on, I thought you fell because of pride,” Michael interrupts, jabbing a finger at Luke. Luke shakes his head. 

“I fell because I loved someone more than I loved Him,” he says, and then nods at Ashton. Michael blinks. 

“Sorry,” he says after a moment, shaking his head. “Not sure I’m getting this.” 

“Yeah,” Calum chimes in. “Sounds like you’re saying you and Ashton were, like...a thing?” 

“That’s what he’s saying,” Ashton says. 

“You- hang on,” Michael says, holding his hands up. “You, _Ashton,_ angel who tells me off for even _thinking_ about blaspheming, dated _the Devil?_ ” Ashton nods curtly. 

“Nah,” Calum says, shaking his head, “sorry, not having it.” Michael has to agree with that. No way did Ashton date _Satan._

“Wait,” he says suddenly. “No, this doesn’t make any sense. Why do you look different?” Luke shrugs. 

“Changed it up,” he says. “You get a much more exciting range of powers when you’re not confined by His morals.” He grins, and looks back at Ashton. “Ashton still recognised me, though, didn’t he?” Michael stares at Ashton. 

“You dated Satan?” he asks, and Ashton nods. “You never thought to fucking tell me?” 

“What was I supposed to say, Mike?” Ashton says. 

“Oh, I don’t know, _hey, Michael, sorry about all those times I slammed you against a wall for swearing, turns out I dated the fucking Devil?_ ” Michael suggests, slightly hysterical. None of this makes any fucking _sense._

“You slam him against walls?” Calum asks, sounding intrigued. “Huh. Shame. I won’t get to be the first.” Michael scowls at him. 

“Are you serious?” he demands. “I find out Ashton dated the _literal_ Devil, and you want to make innuendos? What are you, an incubus?” Calum grins at him. 

“Might be,” he says. 

“Could make you one, if you wanted to be,” Luke offers. 

“If you’re Satan, why the fuck are you messing around with people’s phone chargers and gluing coins to footpaths?” Michael says. Luke shrugs. 

“Being annoying is way more fun than being evil,” he says. Michael stares at him, because yeah, that does actually sound like something Lucifer would say. But Lucifer also didn’t fucking _date Ashton._

“You two didn’t date,” Michael says, shaking his head. “That’s just- that’s just not true.” 

“I can’t lie, Michael,” Ashton reminds him, and Michael bites his lip, because it’s true, he can’t, but he also didn’t fucking _date the Devil._

“So,” Luke continues, like this whole interlude hadn’t even happened, spreading his hands. “Turns out I loved Ashton more than he loved me. I get cast out, he doesn’t follow, cue thousands of years of warfare.” And actually, _that’s_ a point. 

“You let me fight that war,” Michael says tightly, rounding on Ashton. “You let me _lead_ that. You let me lead angels, your _brothers_ , into battle to die, and you could have stopped it all along.” Ashton puts his head in his hands. 

“I couldn’t,” he says miserably. “I couldn’t _force_ myself to love Lucifer more than I love Him.”

“Man, this is like a fucking soap opera,” Calum puts in, leaning back in the booth with a grin on his face. 

“I’m glad _someone’s_ fucking enjoying themselves,” Michael snaps, and Calum holds his hands up in defence. 

“I’m a demon, dude,” he says. “I kind of get off on chaos.” He pauses, and then adds: “So do you, actually, don’t fucking lie. You said the tattoo was funny.” 

“That’s exactly why I’m so worried about you, Michael,” Ashton says. “You _abuse_ your free will. I don’t want you to fall, too.” Michael rolls his eyes. 

“Ash, if I were going to fall, it’d would’ve happened a long fucking time ago,” he says. Ashton shoots him a look. 

“You’ve never been as close as you are now,” he says bluntly, eyes flicking to Calum. 

“Oh, c’mon, I want to fuck a demon, so what?” Michael says. “You _actually_ fucked _the Devil_ , and you’re still up there.” 

“You want to fuck me?” Calum interrupts, and Michael rolls his eyes. 

“Dude, of course I want to fuck you,” he says. Calum looks at him for a moment, and then his face splits into a self-satisfied grin. 

“Don’t blame you,” he says. “I _am_ pretty fucking sexy.” 

“Not the moment, Calum,” Michael says warningly, and it’s Calum’s turn to roll his eyes, but he doesn’t retort. 

“He’s not going to fall, Ash,” Luke says, and there’s something gentle and reassuring in his tone that doesn’t really sit well with Michael’s idea of Satan. “Trust me. He’ll never love anyone more than he loves Him.” Calum’s grin drops at that, and Michael tries to ignore the unpleasant flip in his stomach. 

“You don’t know that,” Ashton says. “You haven’t seen how he uses his free will.” Michael hesitates. 

“I spoke to God about it,” he says, after a moment of dithering. “I- look, I can’t tell you what He said, but we’re on the same page.” Ashton throws him a sceptical look. “Come on, Ash, am I going to lie to you about what He said in front of Him?” Ashton hesitates, and then deflates.

“No,” he says reluctantly. “But-” 

“No, I’m not taking any more fucking criticism from you,” Michael interrupts, pointing a finger at him, “ _ever_. You dated _the Devil_. I’m going to swear to _fucking_ God-” he relishes the way Ashton flinches at that “-and I’m going to fuck Calum, and there’s absolutely fucking _nothing_ you’re going to say about it.” Ashton opens his mouth, and then closes it again, and Michael gets a rush of satisfaction almost as strong as when he’d told Raphael he’d been reinstated as archangel, again. 

“Fine,” Ashton mutters. Luke shoots him a look somewhere between concern and amusement, and Michael tries not to think about the fact that _Satan_ seems to at least somewhat care about Ashton, instead lapsing into an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes until Calum clears his throat. 

“So, Michael,” he says hopefully, breaking the tension. “We were gonna fuck?” 

\-------

Just because Michael and Calum are fucking now doesn’t relieve Michael from his duties, as God kindly but firmly reminds him when he goes to ask about whether this is, like, even permitted. 

(“You know where I stand,” God had said. “Love no one more than me.”

“For you are a jealous God,” Michael had muttered, and God had grinned. 

“Exactly.”) 

He’s begged Calum to stop fucking around, but Calum seems to think it’s even funnier now that they’re whatever the fuck they are, uses it as a fucking booty call. His ideas are getting more and more ludicrous - he’d gone to someone’s house and put tiny holes in all of their socks, for God’s sake - just to call Michael down for a quick fuck. 

So when Michael hears that Calum’s caused a ten-car pileup on a motorway in England, he’s a little concerned. 

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Calum says, aiming for light-hearted and missing, not even looking up when Michael sits down next to him on the overbridge. 

“That’s all in your hands,” Michael says, looking out at the (pretty impressive) traffic jam Calum’s caused. “Damn, dude. Bad day?” Calum huffs out a laugh, but it’s humourless. 

“Yeah, guess so,” he says moodily. Michael hesitates. On the one hand, Calum’s a demon, and even though they’re physically intimate, Michael’s not supposed to emotionally care about him. On the other hand, Michael’s an angel, so caring is kind of in his nature, and something about Calum just draws Michael in. 

“Wanna talk about it?” he says eventually, gently. Calum shrugs. 

“Nothing you can do about it,” he says. 

“I can listen,” Michael says. “Angel, remember? I do a lot of listening.” Calum snorts. 

“What are you angel of?” he asks. 

“Healing,” Michael says. 

“You heal broken hearts?” And, oh. Okay. Michael swallows. He shouldn’t care about that as much as he does. It shouldn’t matter to him that someone that isn’t Michael has broken Calum’s heart. 

“I can try,” he says, aiming for jovial, but it falls flat. Calum sighs. 

“Remember that dude who wrote that play about the people who couldn’t be together?” he says, kicking his legs out. Michael frowns. “You know, the one set in Italy? Couple of centuries ago?” Michael frowns, and Calum rolls his eyes. “C’mon, man, you know who I’m talking about. Ro- Roleo? No, wait, Romeo? Romeo and Juliet, that’s the one.” 

“...Shakespeare?” Michael says. 

“Yeah, him,” Calum says in relief. 

“What about him?” 

“Didn’t he write the whole star-crossed lovers thing?” Michael raises his eyebrows. 

“You remember that, but not Shakespeare’s name?” he says. Calum scowls, but it’s half-hearted. 

“My point is,” he says, and then he stops, and kicks his feet out again. 

“Your point is?” Michael prompts. Calum sighs, and stares down at the cars. 

“You ever feel like that?” he says gloomily. Michael follows his gaze. 

“Like a traffic jam?” he asks slowly. Calum rolls his eyes. 

“Like we’re star-crossed lovers,” he says, and oh. 

_Oh._

Oh, fucking hell. 

“Calum,” Michael says carefully, and Calum sighs again. 

“I know,” he says, before Michael can continue. “You don’t fucking care about me, whatever. It just fucking sucks.” He laughs humourlessly, and then adds: “You think He’d ever let me back in?” Michael dithers on that for a moment, before deciding to go for the truth. 

“I don’t think so, Cal,” he says gently. “You wouldn’t be able to love Him more than anyone else.” 

“Is that such a fucking crime?” Calum says bitterly. “That I have the capacity to love with thought, with intention, not just blindly?” 

“No,” Michael says kindly. “It just means you’d make a shitty angel.” 

“ _You’re_ a shitty angel,” Calum says. 

“I am,” Michael agrees. “But I’ll also never love anyone more than Him.” Calum deflates, and shit, are those _tears_? Can demons even cry? 

“What the fuck are we even doing then, Michael?” Calum asks flatly. Michael sighs. 

“I do care about you, Cal,” he says. “A lot. I should have killed you the first time I met you, but I couldn’t. There’s something about you, I just…” he trails off. “Look, it’s complicated. I _do_ care about you. I’ll just never love you more than I love the Lord.” Calum stares at the traffic below them. 

“But you could love me?” he says to the cars. Michael nods. 

“Easily,” he says. Calum bites his lip. 

“I could be second best?” 

“You already _are_ second best.” Calum’s brow creases, like he’s trying to make some kind of decision.

“Okay,” he says eventually. Michael frowns. 

“Okay?” Calum shrugs, and the wicked gleam is back in his eyes, just like that. 

“You know what they say,” he says, grinning. “First the worst, second the best.” Michael rolls his eyes, hard. 

“You really gonna have a breakdown and end it like that?” he says sceptically. 

“Demon, dude,” Calum reminds him. “Not really keen on serious.” 

“You sure you’re not, like, a poltergeist?” Michael says, and Calum shoves him off the overbridge. Michael squawks, wings unfolding so fast he thinks he might have sprained something, and he hits Calum upside the head with his left wing as he sets himself back down next to him. “You’re a fucking arsehole, you know that?” 

“And proud,” Calum tells him, and then sobers again. 

“What?” Michael prods. Calum sighs, and holds his hand out, fingers spread, for Michael to hold. 

“I don’t want you to fall for my sake,” he says. 

But, as Michael laces his fingers through Calum’s and stares at the cars under their feet, he thinks: _would that be such a bad thing?_


End file.
